


when the stillness bends

by Tommythebee



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, I cried writing this, I want to punch Peter Lukas, M/M, Unbeta'd, happy ending I promise, he's not even mentioned in this fic I just needed to say it, post 159 pre 160, the lonely is not Martin's friend, they're on a train to the Highlands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:27:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25740568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tommythebee/pseuds/Tommythebee
Summary: I promised hugs so here it isMartin. Jon. A train to the Highlands. And some crying.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 10
Kudos: 122





	when the stillness bends

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Black Car by Beach House because I thought it (beach) would be funny and ironic.  
> I hope y'all like it! I got emotional ™️ while writing this.

Jon woke up with a scream building in the back of his throat. It died when it reached his lips, as he slowly remembered where he was. A metallic clanking noise seemed to emanate from below his feet, and the sudden noise jarred him out of the twisted grasp of his nightmares. The memories of last night's events were flooding his senses in a rush, and it was rapidly becoming _too much_. He tried the breathing exercises Melanie had taught him, but it wasn't _working_. Breaths came shorter and shallower as he was suddenly slammed with the realization that they were alone, they were on the run, that they— _they_. Martin. Jon was part of a _they_ now. 

He suddenly became very aware that Martin was holding onto both of his hands, clutching them tightly, as one would to a life preserver, which Jon found…quite nice, to be honest. Martin appeared to be out cold, and in this case, cold was not a figure of speech. He was radiating damp, chill air, like some kind of horribly broken space heater. Jon shivered, and huddled closer to him in an attempt to keep him warm.  


Looking around the dimly lit train car, Jon noticed that he seemed to be the only one awake. The only other passengers were an old man with a cane, snoring quietly, (which ignited a rather unpleasant flashback to statement number 0121112) and a young mother with two children gathered in her arms. He figured no one would mind if he dropped his head down gently over Martin's, which happened to be resting on his left shoulder. It couldn't have been all that comfortable a position for Martin, as he was not exactly a small man, and Jon was very short when sitting down, but he looked so peaceful that Jon couldn't bear to wake him.  


Face buried in Martin's mess of soft curls, Jon breathed in deeply, inhaling the grey, misty smell of the ocean, which did nothing to settle his nerves. He could remember the Lonely very clearly, and he suspected neither he nor Martin would be wanting to go to the beach anytime soon. Jon closed his eyes and cast out a net for sleep. Soon enough, the rhythmic motion of the train's wheels drowned out the racing thoughts running wild through his mind, and the last thing he saw before slipping into unconsciousness was the slim curve of a waning crescent moon.

***

Jon woke up to the warm touch of sunlight on his face, the sound of the ocean, and to the entire left side of his body feeling ice cold.  _ Martin.  _ Whipping his head—which was no longer tucked over Martin's—around, he sees what startled him awake. Martin, though still in the seat next to him, was sat hunched over with his head between his knees, hands clasped over the back of his head, and shaking with body-wracking sobs.  


While Martin himself made no noise, every time one of his tears hit the carpeted floor, it echoed with the sound of crashing waves. Around the edges of his body, the line where  _ Martin  _ met  _ train  _ was blurring. His hair, which Jon had been unable to see last night in the dark, was becoming even lighter than it had been when he was in the Lonely. It looked if the color was slowly being leached out of his curls from the ends up, and Jon was watching it happen.  


Jon's thoughts were an endless stream of  _ whatdoidowhatdoidowhawdoido _ . He couldn't Know what he was supposed to do in situations like this, they were supposed to be laying low, under the radar. Thankfully the other passengers weren't in the railcar, or else they might have been in deeper trouble. He shook himself out of his thoughts, and shifted until he was crouching in front of Martin, whose tears had created a sizable damp spot on the carpet by this point.  


"Martin," Jon said, carefully pulling his hands off of his head, holding them together in both of his own in an attempt to stop Martin's trembling. "Look at me. I'm here, I'm real." His skin was the kind of cold that only comes from being submerged in freezing water, the kind that numbs the nerves and dulls the thoughts.  


"H-how do I, d-do I kn-know?" Martin stammered, still looking at the floor. His voice was muffled, as if by a great distance. "I, I d-dreamt I w-was, I was back  _ th-there _ . I can't g-go  _ back _ , Jon"

Jon brought a hand under Martin's chin, and gently tilted his head upwards. "Look at me, Martin. I'm here. We're both here. I won't let you go back there." Martin's outline was starting to unblur, and he felt more solid. Though he was still shaking, the saltwater tears had stopped falling, and his hair had stopped fading, settling in at a soft gradient from bright red to strawberry blond to a wispy white color at the ends.  


"Promise m-me you won't l-leave."

"I will never leave you, Martin." Jon promised, his hands framing Martin's face. "I swear it." At that, Martin met Jon's eyes for the first time that morning, and Jon had to stifle a gasp. His eyes, which had previously been a dark, molten brown color, had changed. There was now a thin ring of dark grey, the precise shade of an empty, desolate sea, banded around the inside of his irises.  


"What is it?" Martin asked, his voice shaky, but quickly gaining steadiness. He was visibly tense, bracing for bad news.  


"You're beautiful." Jon said instead, brushing away the last traces of tears from his cheeks. Martin was not expecting that, and couldn't help but blush. Jon felt the sudden bloom of warmth through his fingers, Martin's body temperature slowly but steadily rising to that of a normal human. "Your eyes have changed," he added, not wanting to lie. He was done with lies. "And your hair, as well." Jon continued.  


"I don't care." Martin said with a laugh, surprising himself.  


Then the train chugged around a particularly sharp turn, and Jon was nearly sent flying sideways, crouched on the floor like he was. Martin extended a hand towards him, and heaved him back onto his feet. Jon plopped back down into his seat, hand still linked with Martin's, and pulled him down to sit next to him. Wrapping an arm around his waist, Jon pressed his face into Martin's shoulder, hugged him tightly, and silently vowed that as long as he lived, or at least maintained some kind of consciousness, Martin would never feel alone again. 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! It would mean the world to me if you left your thoughts in the comments! I read all of them and y'all are so nice my heart can't take it. Find me on Tumblr @unbakedthoughts I post (sad) poetry, random snippets of writing, and my fics there as well  
> ʕ º ᴥ ºʔ


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